<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>a distinct lack of moral qualms by Lemon_lady</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25598182">a distinct lack of moral qualms</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemon_lady/pseuds/Lemon_lady'>Lemon_lady</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: The Next Generation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Bad Flirting, F/M, First Meetings, Ishara has top energy tell me I’m wrong, Meet-Cute, Rarepair</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:02:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,144</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25598182</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemon_lady/pseuds/Lemon_lady</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ishara meets a stranger three years after the world ends.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lore/Ishara Yar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a distinct lack of moral qualms</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>rated teen for a brief mention of rape gangs. Stay safe lovelies &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ishara sprints through the underbrush. Branches cut at her bare arms leaving angry red welts that promised to use up the last of her neosporin stash if she made it back to her camp alive. She trips over an exposed root and goes sprawling, hitting the hard packed dirt of the forest floor, her ankle twisting unnaturally.</p><p>She screams. The sound of her own voice startles her, it’s been ages since she’s spoken in more than a whisper. There’s no reason to sweat screaming now. She hadn’t been able to sleep through the music. If there are any gangs in the area, they’re already headed her way. </p><p>The blowhard who’s gotten her into this mess clearly thinks he has a sense of humor. R.E.M’s <em> It’s The End Of The World </em>has been on repeat for as long as she’s been running. </p><p>Ishara isn’t laughing. </p><p>She picks herself up and continues down the trail, limping as she goes. The last few meters are downhill. She takes them half sliding. By the time Ishara breaks through the treeline and into the clearing the pain in her ankle is excruciating. The music is coming from the siren, but she’d already known that, the damn thing is the only piece of electronic equipment in a twenty  mile radius that could make this much noise. </p><p>The siren was used to alert campers to forest fires, back when you could afford to care about other people. Now someone’s jerry rigged it to play music loud enough to reach the stratosphere. She came to throttle them. To shut their racket off before the rape gangs get too close. Still, she can’t help but admire the ingenuity required to do something like this. She had wanted to be a mechanical engineer once upon a time. Tasha had put off college to help her raise the money. <em> Tasha. </em>The only family Ishara had ever known. She shakes off the memories, and the unhappy associations that come with them. Now is not the time to be thinking of her traitor sister. </p><p>There’s a RV parked directly underneath the siren. The door is ajar. She can’t see anyone inside, but the grime covering the windows makes it difficult to be sure. Whatever’s controlling the siren must be in there, and if the person who set it up isn’t around to tell her how to disable it she’ll smash whatever she finds to bits and hope for the best. Her shallow breathing is the only real sound in the camper; the early 2000’s rock blaring outside is muffled.</p><p> Ishara closes the door behind her, protecting her back. For a moment she’s alone. Then she’s face to face with a man. He must have been hiding behind the door! She registers only  the glint of metal in his hand before she’s in motion. The heel of her combat boot connects with the stranger’s nose. She’s always had a better front kick with her injured leg but she still does the job neatly. The man falls backward and hits the ground with an unceremonious thump. </p><p>“<em> Wow </em>.” He smiles lazily. There’s blood on his teeth, and more dripping from his nose. It’s crooked enough that Ishara’s sure she’s not the first woman to have broken it. “You’ve got quite the kick lady.” </p><p>“Turn it off.” Ishara snarls one boot planted firmly  on his chest. </p><p>“Ok.” He shrugs pushing a few buttons on the metal object she’d seen earlier. It’s a remote. The noise cuts out immediately. The two stare at each other in the silence. The man is tall, with slicked black dark hair and a tight fitting black turtleneck. His skin is unnaturally pale but he’s handsome, in a certain way. </p><p>“What on <em> earth </em> were you doing? </p><p>“Wasn’t it obvious?” </p><p>“You have a death wish?”  She leans forward.</p><p>“Your gangs are preoccupied. Fighting a turf war down in the city.” He stretches, trying to weasel his way out from underneath her. Ishara responds by dropping her full weight onto the stranger's chest, straddling him. </p><p>“You’ve been to the city?” She gasps, unable to keep the surprise out of her tone. </p><p>“Mhmm. On my way up here.” </p><p>“You travel?” She shifts slightly. </p><p>“Oh don’t move.” He grins, grasping her shoulder. “This is perfect.” </p><p>“You’re disgusting!” Ishara scowls. </p><p>“I travel.” He nods. “Bring a little music to the locals and go on my way. Open that cabinet to your left and you’ll find my collection of Starbucks mugs. I’m trying to get the entire continental 48.”</p><p>“You draw people in.” She realizes. “Then what?” </p><p>“Usually? I rob them blind.” </p><p>Not today.” Ishara grins.</p><p>“I’m not planning on robbing you.” </p><p>“Oh really?” </p><p>“Do you honestly think I couldn’t get out from under you?” He cocks his head. “20 mugs and counting.”</p><p>“Do it then.” Ishara dares. </p><p>“I want you to come with me.” He ignores her. </p><p>“Why?” She laughs. </p><p>“I’m bored.” </p><p>“You’re <em> bored </em>? We’re three years into the apocalypse.” </p><p>“I’m bored. And I’ve always been attracted to a woman who-”</p><p>“Can break your nose?” She interrupts. </p><p>“Can and <em> would </em>. There’s a shower on this RV. Did I mention that?” </p><p>“The depths to which man has fallen.” Ishara snorts. “That you’re trying to seduce me by offering me a shower.” </p><p>“It has hot water.” </p><p>“Lord that’s tempting.” She pauses. </p><p>“Come on! It’ll be fun! How long has it been since you’ve had a road trip? Why are you hesitating?” He frowns. “If it’s moral qualms then I’m going to be <em> very </em> disappointed.” </p><p>“Moral qualms.” Ishara laughs at the absurdity of it. “About robbing people?”</p><p>“Woman after my own heart.” He smirks. </p><p>“I’m <em> hesitating </em> because there’s nothing to stop you from trying something if I let you up.” </p><p>“You could always break something else.” The stranger suggests. </p><p>“Quit flirting.” Ishara rolls her eyes. “Why are you trekking cross county anyways?” </p><p>“I’ve got a bone to pick with the Fleet.” </p><p>“They took my sister.” Ishara whispers. “And left me behind.” </p><p>“I’ll do you one better.” The man laughs. “My brother’s a commanding officer.” </p><p>The Fleet is a splinter faction of the United States Army. After the capital fell they’d broken off, amassing a ridiculous amount of troops. They do it under the guise of bringing security back to the continent. Some semblance of a normal life for their descendants. Ishara has always found them revoltingly opportunistic.</p><p>“Seems we’ve got more in common than I thought.” She stands up and extends a hand. The stranger takes it. She pulls him to his feet and he turns his back to her, rifling through the kitchen drawers for a towel to wipe his face. “The name’s Ishara Yar.” </p><p>“Lore.”</p><p>Lore and Ishara spend the next few months heading east, stealing supplies from the poor suckers who answer their siren calls. The showers are heavenly. Her ankle heals quickly. And they don’t make a bad team. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>You may have noticed this has been deleted and reuploaded 😳</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>